They call us 'Half & Halfs' – young adults of Arab descent, raised outside the Arab world, now coming back to live in the 'old country' our families always told us about.
The stats helper monkeys at WordPress.com mulled over how this blog did in 2010, and here’s a high level summary of its overall blog health:
The Blog-Health-o-Meter™ reads Wow.
Crunchy numbers
About 3 million people visit the Taj Mahal every year. This blog was viewed about 59,000 times in 2010. If it were the Taj Mahal, it would take about 7 days for that many people to see it.
In 2010, there was 1 new post, growing the total archive of this blog to 46 posts.
The busiest day of the year was April 8th with 385 views. The most popular post that day was amelie.
Where did they come from?
The top referring sites in 2010 were lonelyplanet.com, facebook.com, search.babylon.com, iloubnan.info, and search.conduit.com.
Some visitors came searching, mostly for amelie, elissa, haifa wehbe, fulla, and yann tiersen.
Attractions in 2010
These are the posts and pages that got the most views in 2010.
Please forgive the incredibly long break in posting. Basically, to sum up, once I was hired by Time Out, where I was writing full time, coming home and writing even more just wasn’t quite as feasible – hence the sudden halt in blogging. And, in May 2010, I decided that it was time to leave Time Out and Beirut behind and moved on to new adventures. I have since started another blog, so check it out if you get a chance! Here’s the link: http://colettetravel.wordpress.com/
Bah! I love my job!! About three weeks ago, my boss called me to ask if I could conduct a phone interview in French. I said yes, to which she replied, “Wonderful! I just gave Yann Tiersen your cell phone number. He’ll be calling you at 7pm.”
Me – In my head: WHAT?!? Yann Tiersen?? The Yann Tiersen?? Who composed the music for Amelie and Goodbye Lenin?? The Yann Tiersen who’s music I used to listen to to keep my mood up when I was studying for exams in university? The Yann Tiersen who’s music I play whenever I move into a new apartment, because it fills up every corner with this warm, wonderful feeling??
Me – Out loud: Oh, wow! Great! I’ll write up some questions while I’m waiting for his call and email you a transcript of the interview tomorrow.
Me – In my head after hanging up the phone: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
I rushed home, typed up some interview questions and sat nervously on my bed (which doubles as my desk) waiting for the phone to ring. He called at 7:22pm and I swear, those were 22 of the longest minutes…
And then, my ringtone started to play, my stomach did a somersault and I started sweating profusely.
“Allo? C’est Yann Tiersen.”
And then I said something along the lines of “Gobbedly gobbeldy goo..” feigned a bad connection and somehow got my brain working again.
In the end, it turned out that Yann Tiersen is actually a really nice, down to earth guy, and the rest of the interview ended up going really well. He was patient with me, friendly and gave thorough answers to my questions. I felt like a real journalist for the first time – such a rush!! Success!!
So here you go! The un-cut version of my first feature article in Time Out Beirut!
YANN TIERSEN
“Music and life are the same…I’m always thinking about music.” Words spoken by a man who has clearly found his calling in life, French musician and composer, Yann Tiersen, who will be performing at the Forum de Beirut on November 12. Tiersen was propelled into the international spotlight after the success of the film, Le Fabuleux Destin d’Amélie Poulain, for which he composed the award winning score. But as any devoted Tiersen fan will tell you, the 39-year old musician’s work extends long before and far beyond Amélie.
Born in the city of Brest and raised in the nearby city of Rennes in Brittany, France, Tiersen began to study piano and violin at the age of 12, discovering his passion for music early in life. During our interview he revealed, “I always knew I wanted to be a composer – since I was a young child. I love music.” Tiersen would go on to receive formal music training, but as a free spirit who could not be contained by the restrictions of classical protocol, he made the sharp turn from classic to rock. Jamming with several different rock bands in the 1980s, he began to develop a style of music all his own.
In 1995, at the age of 25, he released his first album, La Valse de Monstres (The Monsters’ Waltz), a compilation of music he had composed for two French plays, Le Tambourin de Soie (The Silk Tambourine) and Freaks. The minimalist, instrumental music showcased influences of classical compositions, the old French crooners of the 1950s, and Tiersen’s beloved rock.
In addition, true to the composer’s now trademark style, the album featured the beautifully bizarre combination of such varied instruments as the violin, piano, accordion, toy piano, melodica, and xylophone. Tiersen explains, “I really love working with sound…looking for things to use and instruments that aren’t really traditional.” Obviously not one to be limited by the conventional, the ever-curious Tiersen has continuously experimented with different melodic tools, utilizing the noises produced by things as abstract as typewriters and bicycle wheels in his compositions.
Domestic fame came in 1998, with the release of his third album, Le Phare. A few years later, this eccentric, suddenly in-demand musician was graced with the international praise he had long deserved when his compositions for Amélie (2001)and the German film Goodbye Lenin! (2003) surprised and impressed the world.
Composing a score for a film tends to be different than composing for an album, but not for Tiersen. Whereas many composers take their inspirational cues from the visual rhythm of the film and the style of editing, or try to synchronize their music with actions and dialogue, Tiersen takes a different approach: “I don’t work with the images. I don’t look at them while I compose.” While this may be an unconventional modus operandi, you can’t argue with success. He was given the French national film award, the César, in 2002 for Best Music Written for a Film, for his score in Amélie.
Although he enjoys composing for films, and cannot deny the international success such work has brought him, Tiersen professed that he prefers composing independently, “There’s more freedom. When you’re working on the score for a film there are limitations and obligations. You have to have a certain result by a certain time…it’s a bit stressful. I prefer to compose on my own time, when inspiration comes.”
When it comes to composing his music, to finding that inspiration, Tiersen likes to be alone – “I have a house on a small island west of Brittany and I have less pressure there. I can just work.” He adds laughing, “And if I don’t find any ideas there, I go into town to the bar for awhile.” This gifted composer seems to live and breathe the music he writes, issuing the impassioned statement, “When you are a musician you can enjoy life and life can be material for your inspiration. I’m always thinking about music. It’s always with you. When I compose, I think about life, and when I’m not working, I’m thinking about music.”
And now, Yann Tiersen will be gracing the stage in our beloved Beirut, performing songs from his yet to be released album, Dust Lane as well as compositions from his last studio album, Les Retrouvailles (2005). Dust Lane, an album that his fans are anticipating with baited breath, is the combined effort of French indie/pop-rock musician Syd Matters, British dark-folk artist Matt Elliott, and Orka, a musical group hailing from the Faroe Islands. Tiersen is enjoying his current tour and is looking forward to his visit here, stating, “I’m happy to being going back to Beirut – it’s a beautiful city.” Well, Mr. Tiersen, ahlan wa sahlan! We’re thrilled to have you!
Normally when I take the bus to and from work every day, I bring along my iPod so I can listen to music or BBC Global News podcasts, to distract myself from the 1 hour+ journey. Or, if the mood strikes, I’ll listen to the bus radio, which normally blasts Arabic music the whole way up.
Fairuz
I had a driver the other day who was bouncing and dancing in his chair, singing along to Fairuz, an iconic Lebanese singer who had her hey-day in the 1960s & 1970s. I love it! And better yet, yesterday, my driver was blasting a mix of NSync and Backstreet Boys – I felt like I was on a high school field trip – brilliant.
Today, alas and alack, I forgot my beloved iPod. Ah well, I obviously get a kick out of Fairouz and NSync sing-a-longs, so I wasn’t too disappointed. When I switched buses in Dora, I was happy to hear that the radio was switched, at least briefly, to news and traffic updates – I was running a bit late and I wanted to know how bad the traffic was going to be – not like knowing would make me arrive any faster, but still. You know how it is. And so…
Announcer: And now, Layla with the traffic.
Layla: There is too much traffic today. God help us and God bless you all.
Announcer: Thank-you Layla. And now for some Fairouz!
….
Shou??? What???
I actually started laughing out loud on the bus, which drew strange stares from my fellow passengers, who all seemed to find this report completely normal. That’s it?!? That’s the entire traffic report?? No mention of which highways have traffic or where it stops or starts, which direction the traffic is going in?? Nope.
I told a Lebanese friend about it later, expecting her to laugh at how ridiculous it was, and instead she just looked at me, completely straight faced and serious, and said, “Hiyati, it’s so true. There is too much traffic in Lebanon. God help us!”
Okay, someone please explain this to me. Apparently, here in Beirut, nose jobs have become so popular that those who cannot afford them, or don’t even actually need them, can still opt to wear bandages across their nose…to fake a nose job. Yup. The newest trend to hit the Beirut fashion scene is the post-op nose bandage. Seriously, what the what??
Jack Nicholson in Chinatown. Ahead of his time. If only this movie had been made 35 years later and in Beirut...
Sorry, but how or why is this considered a chic look?? Okay yes, nose jobs are extremely commonplace in Lebanon – in a 1999 article in the Daily Star discussing the rising popularity of plastic surgery in Lebanon, journalist Anne Renahan wrote, “The Lebanese nose: a facial feature that some people are starting to say is an endangered species on the verge of extinction.” And that was 10 years ago… Today plastic surgery is more popular than ever and the nose job is still leading the way as the most commonly elected procedure – but still, why wear the bandages if you don’t have to??
In that same article, Rehahan continued with several interviews with Lebanese plastic surgeons, including Dr. E.M., 65, a member of the Lebanese Society of Plastic, Reconstructive and Aesthetic Surgery. Apparently Dr. E.M. “…[didn’t] think that the high number of nose jobs in Lebanon [was] a fashion trend. The low cost of operations means that it cannot be considered a status symbol because to a certain extent it is available to everyone. ‘The operation is easy to do and can be done in a day. And it’s also cheaper here than other countries the average price of a nose job in the States may be up to $6,000. In Lebanon it can cost as little as $1,000,’ he says.”
Okay, first of all, I don’t know what world you live in, but in my world, $1,000 is still a fairly large chunk of change. But if, for argument’s sake, you say that $1,000 is affordable, meaning that nose jobs are not considered a status symbol, than why bother with the bandage trend at all?? What’s the point?
To me it reeks more of Halloween than high fashion, but hey, I’m no fashionista.
Okay, so where to begin…Almost exactly 1 year ago the economic crisis stole my life. I was living it up in Madrid with amazing friends, teaching English, tour guiding for Sandeman’s New Madrid and working as the Program’s Coordinator for Club Ivy, helping Spanish students apply to study abroad in English speaking countries. Life was good.
Me tour guiding it in Madrid!
And then boom – 24% unemployment in Spain and my jobs were gone. I said farewell to all my amazing Madrid amigos and set off in search of a new adventure.
SWEET MEMORIES OF MADRID
At Estadio Santiago Bernabeau for a Real Madrid football match with Sebastian, Simon, Tanguy, Davide, and Luzie
Marisa and I celebrating Spain's EuroCup victory in the Bilbao fountain - on my 23rd Birthday!
Tiki Tiki! Oleeeeeeeeee! Ernie, Paolo and Nabil on Halloween!!
Laura, Pablo, Arturo, me, Enrique, and Maria eating caramel apples for dessert after our delicious Thanksgiving feast!! yes, I cooked Thanksgiving dinner for my friends in Spain. And yes, it was awesome 😉
Me and Rachel!! Dinner party at Rachel's, complete with charades, magic tricks and singing
La Noche en Blanco!! Out with Nicoletta and Julian
Goodbye Party with friends in Madrid
So, I decided to go to Boston for a breather, find a job back in my home country. Boston was good in a lot of ways too – I reconnected with old friends, visited family, met many wonderful new friends…
BRILLIANT BOSTON BUDDIES
Sara,me, Megan (roomie!), and Jackie
Lilly!! We've been BFF since birth 🙂
Told 'ya - friends from birth! Lilly and I as babies. I'm the adorably fat, bald lump on the floor...
Elizabeth!! and me out for a night in Beantown
Drea!!! (high school amiga!) Rachel, Parker and me. Nerds. Oh yeah.
Justin!!
Wiley! My Other Roomie
University friends back in Providence! Rita, me and Camela at Viva!
Binta, Sonia, Maren and me - visiting my amazing cousins in Maine! Love you all!!
But after about 4 months it was bye-bye Boston. I lived between Amman and Palestine for a month, working with my Uncle, a documentary filmmaker for Al Jazeera English. And after that…I had no plan. Already in the Middle East, I made the spontaneous decision to visit family in Beirut and study Arabic for about a month.
July came and went so quickly, and deliriously happy in Beirut, I was in no mood to leave. I had enough saved up to hold me over for another month, so I found my fabulous L’Auberge Espagnole-esque apartment in Hamra, where I lived with 12 other amazing Lebanese and internationals, and continued Arabic classes.
As the end of August drew near, and I began to scrape the bottom of my piggy bank, I was forced to decide – what next? Do I stay in Beirut, find a job and make a life here? Or do I go back to the States again? And if so, where?? Do I move to a different country?? Where??? What kind of jobs am I going to be applying for? What do I want to do with my life??? Why have I not already figured this out????? AHHHHHHHH!! Head exploding!!
Finally I decided – ‘Okay, I’ll stay in Beirut. Easier that way. Besides, I’m happy here.’ A lot of my friends here were interning with the Daily Star, the main English language newspaper in the region. So that put the idea into my head to try something journalism related. I love writing so it seems like a logical choice, no? I applied for jobs at both the Daily Star and the monthly travel magazine, Time Out Beirut. Both offered me an internship, but Time Out Beirut offered the possibility of a paying job within a month or so. Time Out Beirut it is!!
And so it began. Every morning, I would pull my tired ass out of bed, glug some coffee and then sit back with my ipod for the 2 hour bus ride to Kaslik (which incidentily is only 25 minutes from Beirut, but takes a whopping 1 hour and a half longer to get to on the bus. oooogh. But the bus only costs me $1.75 so I’m not complaining. Well I guess I am, but I acknowledge that I shouldn’t. So there.).
The job turned out to be worth it, though. And now,they’ve hired me full time!!!! So basically I get paid to enjoy and explore Beirut and the rest of Lebanon, and then write about it. Seriously, what could be better?? How is this my life???
So with a regular paycheck and a new apartment with Farah in Achrafiyeh (they tore down our old building to build a parking lot), I’m calling Beirut home for the time being.
Farah et moi
Such a bizarre feeling to know where home is again! From Madrid to Boston to Amman to Ramallah and now finally here – it took me almost a year after the economic crisis robbed me of my life in Spain but BOOM BABY! I’m baaaaaaaaaaaaack!!!
“My new social environment in Beirut demanded that I be more feminine-looking. It demanded that girls look like girls and boys like boys. It demanded that I style my hair weekly at the hairdresser. Adorn my fingernails with bright polish. Speak softly and giggle often. Wear clothes that hugged my body, to show off my childbearing hips. No one knew how to deal with my tomboyish personality. My aunt would sigh every time I walked in with dirty sandals. My grandmother would shrug her shoulders when she saw me in torn-up jeans. And my cousins believed I was a hopeless case and that no one would ever marry me. How could anyone marry someone who only wore white baggy T-shirts?” – Zeina el Khalil (Beirut, I Love You)
A few weeks ago, I read this paragraph in Beirut, I Love You, and started cracking up. I had to write it down. I could relate to every single word. And here I was thinking that I was the only one thrown by the stark contrast between the ultra feminine and ultra masculine looks women and men sport here in Beirut. How arrogant and naïve of me. A whole series of conversations with my ex-pat and Lebanese friends followed as we all bonded over our recognition of this cultural trend.
Take my Arabic teacher for example. Nadia would come to class every day with her hair perfectly crimped, curled or straightened, an adorable, color-coordinated outfit, matching heels (almost always adorned with sparkling jewels or sequins). Even her eye shadow and nail polish would be colored to match her blouse. It was amazing. She looked like she’d just stepped out of a teen magazine.
And then I would enter. Panting and sweaty, 20 minutes late. Wrinkled clothes that I had worn the day before. Tangled hair, sloppily pulled back into a twisted bun, with long, curly wisps sticking out from all sides of my head, making me look a bit insane. What little makeup I’d hurridly painted on, visibly melting off. Yeah guys, I’m a catch 😉
Once, just as I was walking in the room at 9:20, Nadia, glancing at the clock on the wall, asked me playfully, “Colette, ayya seeya fiati leeom?” (Colette, what time did you wake up today?)
Me:(whispering to Omar, my friend and classmate) Wait, did I not say that correctly??
Omar: (also whispering) No, no. Your Arabic is fine. Colette, she doesn’t understand how a girl could get dressed and to class in only 15 minutes.
Me: Oh. Can’t she tell just by looking at me?
Omar:(Laughing) Habibti, I think she’s processing that now.
Lebanese pop star Elissa, on a normal day
So yeah, I don’t fit the stereotype of the typical Lebanese girl. In case I hadn’t already made that clear.
Me, all "dressed-up"
In my experience, at least in the States and even in Spain, little things like shoes that match your dress or newly manicured nails are things that girls notice, not guys. But here in Beirut, guys comment if you don’t have your hair done just so or your outfit perfectly accessorized. They’re not necessarily insulting about it, more often than not, they just want to know why. Why don’t you care about your hair? Why do you have dirt under your fingernails?? You should take better care of yourself!
And in an appearance obsessed, knife happy culture where nose jobs are the norm, I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised by the fact that letting a little thing like my hair or nails go untended, sparks curiosity. Okay okay, I’m exaggerating a bit – of course not everyone is so appearance obsessed, but there is a large trend towards this among women here. Enough so, that it’s made me a bit self-conscious to the point that I’ve become hyper-aware of other women’s style and my obvious lack of it.
So, today I decided to give in a bit and treat myself to a manicure and a pedicure. All of my friends here in Hamra frequent one particular beauty salon called Cherry. It’s right in front of the lower gate of Lebanese American University (LAU), near the intersection with Sadat Street, just in case you’re wondering.
When I sat down with my manicurist, before I’d even spoken a single word, she glanced at my hands and looked up at me and said, “Habibti, you’re not Lebanese. Where are you from?”
Me: I’m from California. But, my Mom’s Lebanese! I just moved here.
Manicurist: Ha! I knew it! You look Lebanese, but you don’t have Lebanese nails.
Wait. What? Lebanese nails?
And it continued.
Manicurist: (as she was cutting my cuticles and doing all that stuff that manicurists do) Yeeeee! Hiyati! Do you see this?? (Holding up a napkin holding all the crud she’d cut off and dug out from underneath my fingernails) When was the last time you did your nails?? And they’re kteer short! So short! Do you bite them?? Ya haram. Hiyati you shouldn’t do that!
Me:(Mixture of laughter at the absurdity of the conversation and blushing from embarrassment) I’m sorry! I don’t take care of them like I should, thank you for helping me.
Oh, and then we moved onto my feet. I had a French manicure on my fingers and I asked if she could paint my toes red.
Manicurist: (clicking her tongue on the top of her mouth and raising her chin slightly – a gesture that means ‘No’) La! Habibti, I can’t! Your nails have to match.
Me:(smiling) Oh, that’s okay, I don’t care if they match. I think red would be fun!
Manicurist: Habibti you have to care! You’re in Lebanon! I can’t paint them different colors! I can’t.
Me: Um…okay. French toes it is then!
Manicurist: Yeeeeeeeee! Look at your feet! They’re worse than your hands! So dirty! And your nails! Yeeee! Hiyati, promise me you’ll come back soon?
Oh brother….
Woman sitting next to me: Habibti, you look Lebanese. I thought you were Lebanese…but you don’t speak Arabic and you don’t have Lebanese nails…
Manicurist:(to the woman, as she (the manicurist) spent 10 minutes PER TOE, scrubbing, clipping, painting and perfecting) La (no), she’s American, but her mother is Lebanese. (Winking at me) we’ll fix the nails and she’ll learn Arabic.
Woman: Yes! You have to learn, an- yeeee! Look at your feet! So dirty!
My beautifully manicured nails
I have to admit though, that my nails do look beautiful and very clean. And for only $15, it’s not a bad deal. So maybe I’ll embrace my inner Lebanese beauty queen and get my nails done every so often. Cause come on, if I don’t speak Arabic and have Lebanese nails, no one will believe that I’m really Lebanese ;).
I apologize for the HUGE gaps in my blog – with my computer down for a week, sick with the flu for another week, and spending intimate evenings with Señor Hamam thanks to a terrible case of food poisoning another week, my writing took a back seat for a little while. I’m going to try to go back and fill in all the missed days – shway shway, poco a poco 😉 As I do, I’ll post links to the new posts here as they’ll be completely out of order. Enjoy!
About a week ago, my flatmate Cagil (pronounced ‘Chill’) and I were sitting out on her balcony, drinking wine, smoking cigarettes and listening to Fairuz belt out ‘Le Beirut.’ Complete bliss. As we sat there in our white plastic chairs, our feet propped up on the rusty steel railing, red wine dribbling down our chins (well, my chin – Cagil doesn’t have the same problems I do with spills and messes) we tried to figure out what it is that makes this disorganized city, so full of contradictions, so special – why do we love it so much? And although we couldn’t quite pinpoint one specific thing, we did manage to cover a whole spew of things that are uniquely and wonderfully ‘Beirut.’
Constant power outages that leave you peeing in the dark, locked in café with electric doors, sweltering without air conditioning, and cursing your dead computer battery
Completely veiled women with bright purple platform heels peeking out beneath their burquas.
Cold (aka luke warm) showers on a sticky summer afternoon
Grilled ham, cheese and tomato sandwiches from Dany’s
Meeting at least one new person every day
Joking about my former unibrow and mustache with people who can honestly relate (we Lebanese are a rather hairy people)
My natural eyebrows
Amazing people from all over Lebanon and the world who are willing to open up completely; who become your best friend, your soul mate in only a few days time
Stores that appear and disappear in a month’s time
M'juddera
Popping olives like candy while we dance around the kitchen, Louis Armstrong playing from my laptop, cooking m’juddera (lentils and rice – by the way – LOVE that its called mmmmm judera cause it really is muah-ha mmmmm boy delicious) with friends
The world’s S L O W E S T and most expensive internet connection
Walking south, while taxis driving north honk at you and offer you a ride
Six people jammed in the back of a Service (shared taxi)
Eating three meals a day at BarBar
The hilarious but inevitable realization that after eating three meals a day at BarBar, even your sweat has begun to smell like garlic
Seemingly sweat-free Lebanese women with perfect nails, hair, skin and clothes, strutting down Hamra
Spending long afternoons at Ants, browsing jewelry and dresses or just chilling and drinking tea with Fahan, Sebouh, Karen, Raghda and Noor
Countless marriage proposals from taxi drivers
Iced coffee at Café Younes with a constantly growing group of friends
Singing along while friends play guitar and drink cocktails on your roof
May and Leila enjoying fruit cocktails for breakfast
Fruit cocktails (an assortment of sliced fresh fruit topped with a sugary syrup, sweet white cheese, pistachio nuts, almonds and a slice of avocado – AH! Too good!)
Friday night concerts by ‘Chahadine Ya Baladna’ at Walimat
Techno dance parties in the back of taxi cabs…complete with flashing lights…at 3pm
Silent old movies screened with subtitles on the walls of De Prague
An unhealthy obsession with Knafe
Knafe!!
Old men, sitting outside cafes in white plastic chairs playing backgammon or smoking
Communal water bottles on mini buses
Sitting on my orange sheets with friends in my room, drinking wine, eating chocolate, talking and cracking each other up until the wee hours of the morning
Me, wrapped in my orange sheets, and so happy!
That newfound, deep and unconditional love we have all developed for air conditioners
That renewed, deep and unconditional hatred we have all developed for mosquitoes
The first fresh figs at the end of August
My infamous fig binges have earned me the nickname 'Teeny,' which in Arabic means 'My fig'
Eating figs until your stomach starts to gurgle and you come to the terrifying realization that you can fart on cue
Long, intimate evenings with Señor Hamam (Hamam = Toilet in Arabic) after binging on figs
Realizing that you’ve never before talked about your bowel movements on such a regular basis
Dancing with Omar at Oceana
Sipping an ice-cold Almaza with friends at Barometre and snacking on an assortment of Lebanese dishes (mezze)
Dancing all day in the pool at one of Beirut’s beach clubs
Being offered tissues by random strangers, blown away by how completely drenched in sweat you’ve allowed yourself to become
Ordering an obscene amount of food from Kabab-ji…and devouring every last bite
Lazy days in the pool with friends that you’ve known for a few days, but feel like you’ve known for years
Farah, Rianne, me and Leila floating in the pool at Sporting
Sitting on the balcony with Cagil, drinking wine, discussing what makes us happy in Beirut
Today, it was 31 degrees Celsius, 86 Fahrenheit – HOT and HUMID. But whatever, I’m in a good mood! It’s Friday! My internship with ‘Time Out Beirut’ is going really well and I may have found a new apartment (they’re tearing down our beautiful building to build a parking lot – sucks.).
Right now, I’m reading this book called ‘Beirut, I Love You,’ by the Lebanese writer Zeina el Khalil. It’s a memoir, written about her time in Beirut – friends, family, war, cultural trends, food, sex, love, etc. It’s a very quick read, but it’s well written and doubly entertaining given that I’m actually living in the city that she’s describing. It’s like reading ‘The Unbearable Lightness of Being’ in Prague, or ‘Like Water for Chocolate’ in Mexico – it somehow makes a brilliant book even better. Anyway, I brought the book up because as I melted on my walk over to Café Younes today, I laughed to myself as I thought about a line from the book – “Arabian afternoons are like chocolate ice cream stains on the corner of your mouth. They are sweet and sticky.” So true! Although, I have to admit, chocolate ice cream smells a lot better than BO…
I spent a relaxed afternoon at Younes today writing and researching for Time Out, and just when I was beginning to crave good company and conversation Rianne showed up, followed soon after by Farah. Michael joined us a bit later, Tara stopped by to say hello. I know that Hamra is a small neighborhood, and I know that after some time my opinion of it may change, but for now the small size doesn’t feel claustrophobic at all – just cozy, familiar and homey. I love that everywhere I go now I run into people I know. Plus, I’m constantly meeting new people – the friend you ran into randomly at Younes introduces you to an acquaintance of theirs, who you randomly bump into at Ta Marbuta, where he or she introduces you to someone else new. Everyone here is just so friendly and open, and I love them for that.
Working with Rianne and Michael at Younes
Around 6pm, hungry and ready for a change of scenery, Farah and I headed back to the apartment to cook ourselves some dinner. I always know it’s time to go grocery shopping when the only thing I have left in the house is broccoli….yeah, it’s time to go grocery shopping. So while Farah got dressed to meet her dad, who flew in tonight, I boiled up some broccoli and heated up some Maklouta, a kind of mixed bean stew.
Farah and I!
Albert Broccoli
As I stood over the steamy stove top, waiting for my watch pot to boil and wishing for a fan, I started laughing to myself. About a year ago I had a random conversation with a friend about Albert Broccoli, the producer of the original James Bond films. At the 1981 Oscars, Roger Moore presented Broccoli with the Irving G. Thalberg award (given to creative producers), and commented that Broccoli’s Italian grandfather had introduced the vegetable to America when he immigrated to the States in the early 1800s. I don’t know if it’s true, but the conversation was a crack up and now every time I boil broccoli I can’t help but smile 🙂 Nerdy, and admittedly a little weird, but if it makes you happy, it can’t be all that bad.
Fausto and Rianne
After dinner, I chatted with Cagil, read for a bit and then made plans to meet up with Rianne and some of her friends at Dany’s for some beers. Rianne and her friend Fausto had just been to an Arab Tango show at a theater on Rue Hamra. It sounded fantastic – I’ll have to see if I can get tickets for next weekend…
In case you hadn't noticed that the wall moved...
I really love Dany’s. My friend Ali is a DJ there and he introduced me to the bar a few weeks ago. It’s cozy and small – actually used to be a lot smaller – about a month ago they broke down one of the walls and added an extra room to the bar. Dany’s is a meeting place for the young, liberal, intellectual crowd in Beirut, and it has a devoted group of regulars. The walls are covered with writing and doodles, there are rotating DJs, so the music is constantly changing, tasty food, cheap beers and plenty of good company. A really chill place and always a good time.
Fausto, Rianne, me and Leila at Dany's
Chatting with Leila
Later in the evening we were joined by my flatmates Michael and Nadim, Rianne’s friend Leila, Nadim’s friend Jenny, Ali stopped in for a bit – it was a great mix of people and a fantastic night, complete with a grilled ham, cheese and tomato sandwich (yes, they have food at Dany’s – I need nothing more from a bar ;)). I love what an international bunch we are too – I’m Lebanese/Irish American, Rianne is Dutch, Fausto is Indian/Italian, Leila is Iranian American, Michael is Lebanese/Palestinian Dutch, Nadim is Lebanese but grew up in the UAE. Everyone speaks a mix of languages and has traveled to so many interesting places. Ah! So amazing!! We all chatted, laughed, danced, snacked on chick peas and olives, and sipped Almazas till 3:30am when I finally had to turn in for the night. Life is gooooood!
And one last photo from tonight, just to make you smile:
Jenny and her amazing shirt! I instantly loved this girl!
Ha! I’m alive again my friends! Yesterday was my first Friday night out in 3 weeks! I have beaten the flu, finally eradicated all signs of food poisoning from my system and slept off the insane post-sickness fatigue inspired by both. Now to make up for lost time!
Charles!
Yesterday, I began the night by having a pizza dinner with Charles at Napoletana, an Italian chain restaurant here in Beirut. Granted, by Lebanese standards, it’s a little overpriced – for a pizza and a beer you’ll end up dropping about $16 – but the atmosphere is nice and the vegetarian pizza is pretty damn good. No, I’m not a vegetarian, have no fear. I just like kteer khudra (lots o’ veggies) on my pizza. Plus, the branch we went to is on Hamra street – the main street running though the neighborhood of Hamra (university district here in Beirut) – so there’s always plenty of quality people-watching to be enjoyed. Around 10pm, happy and full for the first time in weeks and with plans to meet up with Charles again in a few hours time, I walked home with my two leftover slices of pizza sliding around in an oversized take-away box.
Charles called at midnight just as I was being pulled into the death grip of that hazy, sleepy state of mind that sucks you into your bed, preventing you from enjoying all the night has to offer. But somehow I rallied, chugged a red bull (shukrun Charles!) and met Charles at Walimat Wardeh, a fantastic restaurant/bar in Hamra that I have come to know and love.
Walimat Wardeh! (Written in Arabic, in case you hadn't already guessed)
Walimat Wardeh, also known simply as ‘Walimat’ or ‘Wardeh,’ has been around for 14 years now, which is really saying something in Beirut where stores, bars and restaurants seem to appear and disappear on a regular basis. It was opened by a man named Wardeh Hawaz in 1995, on the ground floor of a charming house on Makdissi Street.
The amazing thing about this place is that it really feels like someone’s home. Someone’s beautiful home. There are stained glass windows and eye-catching tile floors that change patterns as you go from room to room. During the day, it’s a cozy place to go for a hot meal and free internet, and at night it explodes with character and energy as intellectuals mix with a trendy young crowd, drinking and listening to a fun mix of music.
Charles, trying to decipher the Arabic menu during lunch at Walimat, on a different day
The restaurant serves delicious, home-cooked, traditional Lebanese meals that awaken memories of your grandmother’s cooking. Well, if you’re lucky enough to have a Lebanese Tita (grandmother) 😉 YUM! I love you, Tita! The menu is handwritten on blackboards in English and Arabic, changes regularly and is reasonably priced. For 10,000 Lira (about $6.50) you can get a main course meal that will fill you right up and leave you beaming.
Charles and I came at night though, when the music was pumping and overflow guests were pouring out onto the sidewalk. We managed to squeeze our way through the crowds, bought some drinks and found standing room near the band that was performing that night. The band was called ‘Ziad Sahab & Chahadin ya baladna‘ and their music was fantastic. They actually play at Walimat every Friday. I should become a groupie! I only wish I’d known about them before I came – I would have bought a CD and memorized all the lyrics. As I was, I was kind of out of place given that everyone else in the place seemed to know all their songs by heart. They play fantastic Arabic music and everyone in Walimat was bouncing, dancing and singing along. Ah! It was such a great night!
Chahadin ya Baladna - L-R: Ahmad Khateeb, Bashar Farran, Ziyad and Ghassan Sahhab
Once the concert finished, Charles and I headed over to Dany’s for some more drinks and quality conversation. Ali was DJ-ing, which is always a treat because he has fantastic taste in music. So Charles and I chilled, listened to the Doors and the Clash and talked about everything from Beirut, to politics, to movies and music, to friends and the good times we had in Cyprus.
May and Michael
Around 2am, craving a change of pace, we headed over to the apartment of May and Alexa, two other ex-pats interning this summer at the Daily Star, Lebanon’s main English newspaper. My flat-mate Michael was there as well and the four of us chatted, listened to music and drank wine straight from the bottle until 4:30am when we really couldn’t keep our eyes open any longer. The morning call to prayer from a nearby mosque kept me company on my walk home and as I crawled into bed (after wolfing down my left-over pizza – yesssss!) I was grinning from ear to ear. Hey, Beirut! I’m baaaack!
Today was Omar’s last day in Arabic class. Ya haram! Quelle domage! Yet like me, he has fallen hopelessly in love with Beirut and is planning to come back in a month’s time. But also like me, he’s a free spirit whose plans change on a daily basis. So I’m crossing my fingers that he finds his way back our beloved Beirut so I can enjoy his company a little longer. To commemorate his final class, and my final class with Nadia – Jamila and I are switching teachers next week – we took a photo of our group.
Me, Omar, Nadia (our wonderful teacher), and Jamila
We posed with our favorite Arabic book “The Son of a Duck is a Floater.” Cracks me up! It’s an illustrated book of Arab proverbs translated literally and figuratively into English. ‘The son of a duck is floater,’ as you probably guessed, is the direct translation of an old proverb that’s literal meaning most closely translates to the English proverb “Like father, like son.” For those of you who have English as a second language, you might miss why we love the title of this book so dearly – a ‘floater’ in English, or at least American English, is a slang term for a dump in the toilet that floats. I’m sorry, I couldn’t really think of a nicer way of putting that. A hilarious and I’m sure unintentional use of words on the part of the authors. And yes, I do have the sense of humor of a 6-year-old. But you know you love it too 😉
Other proverbs in the book include “From a lack of horses they saddle dogs,” which the book explains as, “There was nothing suitable, and they came up with a completely useless alternative.” Another is “He made a dome from a seed,” which is the same as the English proverb, “To make a mountain out of a molehill.” And one of my favorites, “Spilling coffee is a good omen,” meaning, “Bad luck often brings good luck in its wake.” Having spilled a fair amount of coffee on my computer, my sheets, myself and others, I love the idea that this somehow entitles me to bundles of good luck. And as I gaze down at my coffee stained shirt I think, ‘watch out world, good things are coming my way!’
I love books like this! I find that whenever I go to a new country, one of the best ways to learn more about the local culture is to read their proverbs, fairy tales and other children’s stories – the literature and sayings that people grew up with, that influenced some of their values, ideals and morals. It’s informative, and almost always hilarious. The perfect way to spend any lazy afternoon!
In my post on Sour, I included a photo of a young Muslim girl going swimming, covered and veiled – a concept completely foreign and interesting to me. And you know how sometimes when you learn something new, it somehow seems to pop up everywhere??? So here’s what I’ve found out about Muslim swimwear, which now seems to pop up everywhere:
At the beach in Sour, as far as I could tell, these women and children were going swimming in their clothing – a naïve but understandable assumption. But, as it turns out, there’s actually a relatively large market for full-body swimsuits for Muslim women that allow them to swim without exposing themselves. And better yet, they call the swimsuits ‘burqinis.’ (burq – from ‘burqa,’ the Arabic word meaning the full Muslim veil, and ‘-ini’ is taken from ‘bikini’) I love it!
One of Ahiida's designer burqinis weighing in at a whopping 160 Australian dollars = abt. 135 American dollars, 95 Euros, or 203,000 Lebanese Lira
If you google ‘burqini,’ one of the first sights to pop up is Ahiida Burqini Swimwear, a company founded in 2004 and based in Australia that specializes in “dynamic swimwear and sportswear for today’s Muslim female.” The company was actually started by a Lebanese woman named Aheda Zanetti, who moved to Australia as a child, and frustrated by her inability to participate in prevalent Australian water sports, decided to design a swimsuit specifically tailored to the modern Muslim woman. The resultant burqini allows Muslim women to easily and flexibly swim and compete in water sports, while still remaining completely covered. Clever, huh?
While this trendy Muslim swimsuit is all the rage in Lebanon and Australia, the burqini and the Muslim burqa in general have, unfortunately, been topics of controversy in France for a few years now. Why France? They have the largest Muslim minority population in the EU, and there are those that believe that discrimination against Muslims will decrease if they become less visibly Muslim and more visibly French. Plus, there are entire lobbies of French women (well, and men for that matter) who see the veil as an infringement upon women’s rights. I’ve summed it up in an insanely brief way, but needless to say, it’s a sticky situation.
Anyway, the reason I bring all this up, is that there was actually an article today (see – burqinis everywhere!) in the Daily Star – ‘Paris Pool Bans Woman in Burqini Swimsuit’– discussing the controversy that has arisen over the use of the burqini in France:
“A Paris swimming pool has refused entry to a young Muslim woman wearing a ‘burqini,’ a swimsuit that covers most of the body, officials said Wednesday. The pool ban came as French lawmakers conduct hearings on whether to ban the burqa after President Nicolas Sarkozy said the head-to-toe veil was ‘not welcome’ in secular France. Officials in the Paris suburb of Emerainville said they let the woman swim in the pool in July wearing the burqini, designed for Muslim women who want to swim without revealing their bodies. But when she returned in August they decided to apply hygiene rules and told her she could not swim if she insisted on wearing the garment, which resembles a wetsuit with a built-in hood. France, home to Europe’s biggest Muslim minority, has set up a special panel of 32 lawmakers to consider whether a law should be enacted to bar Muslim women from wearing the full veil, known as a burqa or niqab.” – AFP
Amazing that a glorified wetsuit could stir up so much controversy. I for one have always been a proponent of the belief that respect for differences rather than forced assimilation is a better way to create a peaceful society, but I can respect that this is a complicated issue.
Ozge is leaving for Turkey on Tuesday! The beginning of the end. It seems that many of the people I’ve met here over the past couple of weeks are half & half’s like me, or political science students with a particular interest in the Middle East, here doing an internship – regardless, the one thing they all seem to have in common is that they’re all only here for the summer. Rats. It’s okay – I’ll just have to make the most out of my time with them, their last few weeks here!
So today was declared Ozge’s day and I promised to go along with whatever plans she made. Which is actually awesome for me because Ozge always seems to make amazing plans.
Last night, before I left Dany’s the two of us decided to meet up at 11:30 am on Hamra street and make another day trip to somewhere in Lebanon. Up late as usual, I rushed to get dressed and picked up two manaeesh with vegetables for us for breakfast, and hurried over to find Ozge waiting patiently for me with a cup of coffee for each of us. Mmmm boy! Great minds think alike! We were off to a good start!
We headed down to the Cola transport hub where we met up with two friends of Ozge’s, an Australian guy and an Irish guy, whose names I have embarrassingly forgotten. Ozge wanted to explore the Shouf – a mountain range southeast of Beirut that is part of the Mount Lebanon Range. So we headed off in a shared taxi for the village of Deir al-Qamar (Pronounced ‘Dare al Um-ar’ – in the Lebanese dialect of Arabic they almost always drop the ‘q’ sound, in case you were wondering – which I’m sure you weren’t, but now you know. Don’t ‘cha feel lucky?), a small village in the Shouf, which Lonely Planet describes as “one of Lebanon’s prettiest villages…and one of the best-preserved examples of 17th and 18th century provincial architecture in the country.” Good plan!
The beautiful Shouf
The drive up from boiling Beirut into the considerably cooler green mountains was beautiful and when we weren’t chatting or checking out the view, I read up on Deir al-Qamar. ‘Deir’ means ‘monastery’ and ‘al-Qamar’ means ‘moon’, so basically the name translates to ‘Monastery of the moon.’ I don’t know what the story behind that name is, but I like it! The taxi dropped us off along the main road in Deir al-Qamar around 1pm and we took a minute to orient ourselves and take in the sights.
View down the main road of Deir al-Qamar
Dany Chamoun wearing a shirt with the logo of the Tiger's Militia
Deir al-Qamar really is a beautiful city. It’s filled with stone buildings with red-tile roofs, assembled around a large center square, called Dany Chamoun Square. Dany Chamoun was a Lebanese politician and the son of former Lebanese President Camille Chamoun. He was born in Deir al-Qamar and was known for his opposition to the occupation of Lebanese territories by Syrian and Israeli foreign forces and for his role as a leader of the Tigers Militia in 1968, the military wing of the National Liberal Party (NLP) during the Lebanese Civil War. He and his family were assassinated in 1990, and in his honor, they named the main square of Deir al-Qamar after him.
Random fact about Dany Chamoun Square – apparently in the 16th century they held jousting and other equestrian competitions there. So cool! Now it just houses a small 19th century fountain that dispenses clean drinking water from the nearby Shalout spring. The fountain itself isn’t anything spectacular, but the ice-cold water hit the spot.
Dany Chamoun Square in Deir al-Qamar
Okay, being totally honest – aside from being a cute town with an interesting history, there’s really not much to do in Deir al-Qamar. We browsed the small souk where I bought a patch of the Lebanese flag for my backpack and took a peek in the bizarre wax museum that’s housed inside the old palace of Emir Fakhreddine II, that was built in 1620. We walked past the small Mosque of Fakhreddine that was built in the Mamluk style in the 1490s and down a hill to the Church of Saidet at-Talle that was built in the 7th century, destroyed by an earthquake in the 8th century and then rebuilt under Fakhreddine in the 16th century. Whew! Actually, one thing that is cool about this city is that it has housed Muslims, Christians, Jews and Druze and has the religious monuments to prove it.
So with our tour of this tiny village complete (took about 1 hour) we decided to treat ourselves to some booza (the Arabic word for ice cream – such a fun word!) from a small stall in front of the Palace of Fakhreddine. YES! And the best part was – they had banana royales. Okay for you poor, select individuals who have yet to sample the delicious amazingness that is a banana royale, I will fill you in – sliced banana, 3 scoops of the ice cream of your choice, topped with whipped cream and hot fudge. HEAVEN!! Yes, ice cream makes me that happy 😉
Booza!! Banana Royale with pistachio ice cream! Ah! SO HAPPY!
After our delicious snack, we decided to make our way to the nearby palace of Beiteddine. Okay, and here is where we encountered our first problem of the day. Transportation. There were no cabs to be found in the bite-sized village of Deir al-Qamar and Beiteddine is 6 kilometers away. Oh dear…Luckily, there is only one road connecting the village with the palace and so we set off on foot, arms outstretched, thumbs erect hoping against hope that someone would be kind enough to pick us up. Luckily after about 30 minutes of walking a lone cab passed by and drove us, 4 sweaty, pathetically unsuccessful hitchhikers, to Beiteddine for 2,000 lira each. Score!
Interior courtyard of Beiteddine
The palace of Beiteddine took about 30 years to build and was completed in the early 1800s. It’s massive and gorgeous and perfectly in tact. There are large courtyards with fountains, steam baths, intricate mosaic floors – the details decorating this place are nuts. It’s pretty awesome. I actually visited the palace the first time I came to Lebanon with my Mom in 2005, but I was psyched to be going back.
As we pulled into the palace entrance, we waved goodbye to our driver and made our way over to the ticket counter….where we encountered problem #2. Because of the summer Beiteddine festival, the palace closed early – we were an hour too late. Uuuuuugh! Such a bummer. So now what….We took a quick break to rest and collect our thoughts. On the walk + drive over, we had noticed a castle that seemed a little out of place in the middle of the Shouf and we decided to head back there and check it out. 15 minutes of walking and more unsuccessful hitchhiking later, we found ourselves in another taxi and on our way to Castle Moussa.
Exterior of Castle Moussa
Okay, what to say about Castle Moussa? This place is a trip. So freaking bizarre! Basically the story begins with this guy named Moussa – Moussa Abdel Karim Al Maamari, to be exact. He was born in 1931 and was one of those kids obsessed with the Middle Ages – you know, knights, castles, kings and queens. Pretty standard. So the little Moussa is in grade school and the teacher asks his students to write a short essay on where they want to live when they grow up. Moussa writes about his dream of living in a castle – he’s a kid, so far this all sounds pretty normal, right? The teacher thinks the idea is ridiculous and beats Moussa in front of his classmates, who all laugh and ridicule him. Okay. That admittedly sucks.
So Moussa is so traumatized by this whole thing that he makes it his life goal to prove his teacher wrong and build himself a castle. And this is where the story begins to get a little bizarre. This guy devotes his whole life to learning about the restoration of old palaces and castles in Lebanon (he actually worked on the restoration of Beiteddine), and once he has saved up enough money, he buys a plot of land in the Shouf and begins, literally, to build his dream castle. He built the ENTIRE thing by hand, an impressive feat that took him 60 years to complete. This place has a moat, a drawbridge, medieval style ramparts – oh, he went all out.
Oh and it gets better. Inside his fabulous castle Moussa decided to recreate scenes of daily life in Lebanon with wax figures. All of which he also made himself. And you can tell. I mean, don’t get me wrong – it’s impressive that he did all that he did, but the quality of the wax figures – some of which move! – is bordering on 8th grade history project. But this dude definitely would have been given an A for effort!
First thing you see upon entering Castle Moussa - A wax representation of traditional Lebanese daily life
Seriously, walking through this place was like walking through the surreal dream of a 10-year-old boy. It started out pretty standard for a historical wax museum – figures making bread, dancing the dabke (traditional Lebanese dance), welding, etc. But as you walk from room to room the displays just get progressively weirder. First of all, evidence of how traumatized this guy was – there is an entire life-sized recreation of his teacher beating him in a classroom full of his mocking classmates. What the what?? I mean, I guess that was where the inspiration for the castle began…And I thought I had problems letting go…
The infamous and traumatic beating of Moussa
Another room housed a miniature representation of Noah’s Ark, complete with small plastic animals (lions, tigers…a dragon…and a dangling Santa Clause. No joke.) on a rotating conveyor belt, continuously filtering into the ark. And then things just got more random. Moussa must have been a collector of old irons, because in many of the rooms, there were multiple irons, arbitrarily placed on the floor. There were also large wax hands and large wax feet that kept popping up in display cases and on the floors of exhibits. What the what?!?
The room pictured below featured wall mosaics with a waterfall running over their surface, a stuffed peacock, irons on the floor, guns on the wall, an old woman carrying rope…etc. Ummmm….Why??? I don’t get it.
I don't get it...
Oh and it’s not over yet…then the gun collection began! I told you, surreal dream of a 10-year-old boy – castle, awesome wax people, and guns! Well surreal dream of a 10-year-old boy manifested in the reality of a 70-year-old man….At least 15 rooms packed with guns followed. Random wax hands and feet were still thrown into some of the exhibits for good measure, alongside the occasional large display case of daggers, swords and Bedouin jewelry. I felt like I should have been high or tripping on acid to really appreciate this place.
Bellies aching from laughing and mouths sore from gaping at the bizarre wonder that is Castle Moussa, we all packed ourselves into a shared taxi and headed back to Beirut. But the day wasn’t over yet! A shower and a quick nap later, I headed over to Ferdinand, a small bar on Rue Mahatma Gandhi for Ozge’s farewell party.
Me, Omar and Ozge at Ferdinand - the three best Arabic students ALPS has ever known, and my two closest friends here in Beirut
Ozge’s co-workers and friends – many of whom are my flat mates (small world!) – filtered in over the course of the night and we all sipped wine and beer, talked and laughed until finally fatigue pulled us all home to our beds. What a day!
This morning I woke up at 9am. Shit. Late for class. Did the sniff test to see which of my clothes emitted the least detectable odor. Settled on jeans and a rumpled pink shirt. I need to do laundry…
Decided to be an extra five minutes late and stopped at my favorite roadside stand for a manaeesh zaatar wah khudra (hot bread sprinkled with zaatar and filled with fresh khudra – vegetables (tomato, cucumber, radish, pickles, fresh mint, olives, etc)) – basically an Arabic breakfast burrito. YUM. And don’t judge me on the extra five minutes – I don’t function well without breakfast and it’s only 750 Lebanese Lira – a whopping 50 cents. HEAVEN!
Crumbs decorating my already questionably clean shirt I rushed into class after making a mandatory stop in the bathroom to mop the sweat off my face. Walking into class, as you can imagine, I looked…lovely. Ear to ear grin, I gave a warm ‘sabah-hall khair!’ (good morning!) to my teacher, Nadia, who gave me that knowing grin that all my teachers throughout the history of my adult life have given me when I inevitably clumsily stumble into class, late as usual.
Two hours later, proud of the progress I’d made in class, I met Omar for a coffee at Costa where we he taught me how to text in Arabic. Despite the fact that all phones here have Arabic letters written alongside the English letters, everyone seems to text in the English, Latin-based alphabet, instead of using the Arabic alphabet – Arabic words written out phonetically with numbers substituting the sounds that don’t translate. For example, the ‘H’-ish sound in the word ‘rooH’ (to go), is texted as a ‘7’ – roo7. The guttural ‘aiyn’ sound, is texted as a ‘3,’ etc. It’s weird and complicated, but an essential thing to know in a world where texting is the standard way of communicating.
I left Omar around noon, and caught a taxi over to Dowra (area on the outskirts of Beirut) to check on my beloved ‘kom-pew-tair’ as they call it over here in Libnan. My cab driver quickly picked up that I was foreign and proceeded to give me Arabic lessons all the way to Dowra.
Him: ‘Where are we now?’ Me: ‘In Lebanon.’ Him:‘La! (No!) Be Libnan.’ Me:(Laughing) ‘Okay, be Libnan’ Him: ‘Maabrook habibti! Btheki Arabe!’ (Congratulations darling! You speak Arabic!) Me:(Still laughing) ‘Shukrun!’ (Thanks!) Him:‘Inti Libnanieh?’ (Are you Lebanese?) Me: ‘Eh, immi libnanieh.’ (Yeah, my Mom’s Lebanese) Him:(switching over to French) Et t’a un fiancé? (And you have a fiancé?)
Oh brother….
I have discovered that inquiring minds in Lebanon always want to know if you’re engaged. In fact, the masculine and feminine forms of the word ‘engaged’ were two of the first I learned when I arrived in Beirut. He proceeded to tell me that he had a lovely Muslim son in his late 20s who loves girls who laugh. I declined, as politely as I could, the following generous offer of a blind date with said son just as we arrived in Dowra. I claimed to be a devout Christian but if his son was willing to convert….The only proven way I have yet discovered to end such conversations. An, ‘aw, tant pis!’ ended that conversation dead in its tracks. Phew! Narrow escape. And I climbed out of the cab and hurried over to the computer shop where my computer has been living this past week.
Ah, good news! My computer is up and running again! So happy!! I’m well aware that it’s no exceptional breakthrough, but I hadn’t realized how completely dependent I am upon this stupid rectangular machine. A new hard-drive + $100 + 6 interesting taxi rides back and forth to Dowra proved to be the answer to all my problems and now I’m up and running again without a care in the world! Inshallah! Now, time for a shower, and maybe I’ll do some of that laundry…
I’m not what you would call a style-savy person. Part of me has always wanted to be one of those chill girls with a bright colored scarf wrapped around my head, baggy cargo pants, patchwork bag slung over my shoulder. Part of me wants to be the chic girl – like Julie Delpy in Before Sunset with the million dollar jeans, delicate flats, and a silk black tank top. Part of me wants to dye my hair jet black, wear all bright colors and wear enormous hoop earrings, bangle bracelets and lots of rings. Ooh! Or knee high boots and cool, cropped leather jackets.
Well anyway, for now, with ‘champagne tastes on a diet coke budget’, I’m forced to settle for 5 dollar t-shirts and scruffy jeans, and admire from afar those with the means and fashion sense I lack. But one fashion statement I can afford is nail polish. And here in Beirut the latest craze is pink nails. Neon pink. What the what?? We’re talking, the ’80s are back’, ‘going to a rave under black lights’ neon NEON. Bizarre and gaudy at first glance, I’ll admit – but, with time, the look grows on you, I can’t lie. So today, I decided to give in and I bought a bottle. Gave myself a pedicure and now every time I look at my toes I smile. A cheap splash of a ridiculous trend has brightened my day. Nothing wrong with that!
Yesterday, I was sick in bed all day with the flu. I guess that’s what I get for going on and on about how Friday is my lucky day. I jinxed myself. Damn. Knew it was too good to be true…But, don’t fret! I was feeling a bit more energized today and when Ozge and Charles pitched the idea of heading to the beach, I couldn’t resist. Besides, if I’m going to be sick, I’d much rather be sick at the beach – you gotta’ admit, lying in the sun is much more entertaining than lying in bed at home.
So, we headed north to Jbeil (pronounced Je-bale, and also known by the Greek name, Byblos), to the beautiful beach club, Eddé Sands. Charles had been there before and knew how to sneak us in so we didn’t have to pay the ridiculously expensive entrance fee. Score! Once inside, we all slipped into our bathing suits and oooched! and ouched! our way over to empty beach chairs, burning the soles of our feet on the scorching sand. No sooner had we stretched out on our chairs, than Omar called to say he was also the beach – ah! Too good to be true! And just like that, our fabulous foursome was all together sipping beers and relaxing seaside.
Ozge, Omar and Charles, chilling at the beach
Eddé Sands is pretty ridiculous. The place is massive – there are 6 pools alongside the beach, restaurants, fish ponds, bars, music, amazing landscaping, a view of the ruins of Jbeil. They host concerts and all-night parties. They were actually setting up for a wedding while we were there – laying down the dance floor, setting up lights and carrying in massive crates of flowers. Looked like it was going to be one extravagant bash!
Eddé Sands (Beautiful photo by Ozge)
Ah! Okay, side note – weddings in Lebanon. Oh my crap. What an ordeal. At a friend’s party the other night, I met a wedding planner. As she regaled me with tales of the MILLION DOLLAR weddings she organizes (no joke, many spend even more), I felt like a little kid enraptured at story time. It was unreal. It baffles me that people are willing to spend SO much on one day.
My brother and I on our way to the moon in 1992 🙂
But then again, I’ve always had simpler tastes – after all, I’m the kid who would put aside her toys to play for hours with her brother, transforming a cardboard box into a spaceship and taking trips to the moon. To each their own, right? Some people take out loans to pay for their studies or to buy a house, in Lebanon they take out loans to look like Barbies and throw weddings on the scale of the Oscars.
Walking around Beirut, every now and then you’ll see a wedding procession driving by – the bride’s car smothered with bows, ribbons, flowers and fluff, all the other cars honking as they go by. And when I say honking, I mean hands slammed against the horn, never letting up. Actually gives me a headache, but here it means party party! Women in the cars and even passer-bys will cup their hands over their mouths and let out what a friend of mine fondly refers to as the high-pitched Lebanese yodel, a celebratory cry, which in Arabic is actually called ‘zalghouta.’
Check out this video of my friend Jad crying out a zalghouta:
Lebanese makeup at it's finest
Oh, and the outfits! It’s like an 80’s prom gone wrong – everyone dressed in the poofiest, most glitter-drenched dresses the world has ever known. Hairstyles that rival Amy Winehouse’s famous beehive for height and volume, with vibrant streaks of blond added in especially for the occasion. Sequined covered shoes that can be seen sparkling from miles away. The bling bling these girls decorate their fingers, necks, wrists, ears and hair with would do Elizabeth Taylor proud. And the whole ensemble is complimented by makeup that would do drag queens proud.
Everything in excess.
A Lebanese Bride
My friend Rianne actually went to a Lebanese wedding during her first week here in Lebanon. Later she told me stories of the ceremony, held at a massive mansion in the hills overlooking Beirut. There were rotating video cameras on cranes, candles everywhere, chefs ready and waiting to cook you whatever your heart desired. There was a massive dance floor surrounded by hundreds of tables, flowers popping out of every surface imaginable. And as a grand finale – fireworks!
Fireworks in general seem to be big in the Middle East. In Amman, Ramallah and Beirut, I regularly heard the popping of fireworks or firecrackers, most relatively small, going off at night, or even mid-day. But whenever we see a massive fireworks show going off in the skies over Beirut, my Lebanese friends joke that with each explosion the only sound the groom hears is that of the money draining from his bank account. I think I’m going to have to try to go to one of these Lebanese weddings before I leave. I have to see all this for myself…
But anyway, back to the beach.
Omar, me and Charles modeling our beautiful beach-wear at Edde Sands (Photo by Ozge)
The four of us had an amazing time – lounging, soaking up the sun, taking the occasional dip in the Mediterranean, or one of the pools. When hunger struck, we made our way over to one of the little restaurants where we ordered the cheapest thing on the menu – big salads (trust me, I’m not one of those freaky skinny girls who only eats rabbit food, but on a hot day this was just what the doctor ordered. Plus, there was chicken in it and the thing was massive. I’m just saying). Waiting for our food we sipped on jallab, chatted and laughed.
Ozge enjoying her delicious glass of Jallab
Omar enjoying his delicious glass of Jallab
Ah! Jallab! This stuff is amazing! The perfect antidote to a sticky, hot summer day. Jallab is an mmmmm boy delicious juice drink that I would love to claim as Lebanese, but it’s popular throughout the Arab world, so really, I have no idea where it first appeared. It’s made with a syrup made from date juice, molasses and rose water. You mix the syrup with water and ice, top it off with pine nuts, fresh almonds and golden raisins, and switch between straw and spoon until the glass is empty. And Louis Armstrong croons, ‘Heaven! I’m in heaven! And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak, and I seem to find the happiness I seek…’ *Sigh*
Around 8pm, as the sun began to set, the four of us packed up our bags, said goodbye to Eddé Sands, and walked (about 20 min.) into Jbeil to explore the city and get some dinner. Jbeil was founded around 5000 BCE. Okay, coming from the States where no building is over 300 years old and especially coming from California, which didn’t even become a state until 1850, I LOVE being constantly surrounded by so much history! I mean, Jbeil is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities IN THE WORLD. What the what?! Doesn’t that blow your mind???
It’s an old Phoenician city and it’s insanely beautiful. I mean, I love Beirut, but this place just has so much character and charm oozing out of every street corner.
Charles, me and Omar walking around downtown Jbeil. (Photo by Ozge)
Just to clarify, Phonecia was this fantastic ancient civilization that was composed of a massive chunk of modern-day Lebanon + bits of Palestine, Israel and Syria. It lasted from the 1500s BCE until the 300s BCE and for a large part of that time, Jbeil was actually their capital city. Woot.
Map of Phoenicia
The Phoenicians were also the ones who created the alphabet that is widely believed to be the ancestor of almost all modern alphabets. So how ‘bout them apples? Yeah, these guys were awesome. All of their big cities were located along the coast because they were all about maritime trade. Actually the Greek name for Jbeil – Byblos – came from the Greek word for papyrus – ‘bublos’ – which was the main import the Greeks received from the Phoenicians in Jbail. Ah sooooo!
Our amazing wristbands! Here's to tacky souvenirs!
We walked past the 12th century crusader castle and through the old souk where we browsed clothes, jewelry, nargiles, postcards, handcrafts, etc. and each dropped about 50 cents on cheesy Lebanon wristbands. We popped into the famous shop – Mémoire du Temps – where you can browse and buy old fossils. The shop is nuts. It’s relatively small and every available bit of wall and shelf space is covered with ancient fish fossils – including one of a 4 meter long shark. Apparently it was opened by the paleontologist Pierre Abi-Saad, a native of Jbeil. Abi-Saad’s family has owned a quarry in the city for generations, in which they discovered thousands of perfectly preserved fossils of fish, most species of which are now extinct. Apparently, in the fall and spring, you can actually go on fossil digs with this guy for FREE. I’m going to have to get in on that!
The old souk in Jbeil (Another beautiful photo by Ozge)
By 9:30pm, the souk was beginning to close up and the cafes and bars to open up. Within a few minutes, the streets went from housing baubles and bangles to housing tons of folding tables and chairs that quickly filled with hungry locals and visitors alike. Hungry ourselves, we headed down to the harbor – the former hub of all Phoenician trade. At night the harbor is so beautiful – all the fishing boats docked for the night, the medieval walls and old Mamluk towers wrapped around its sides, and little lights from restaurants reflecting in the water. Very cute.
The view of the harbor from the restaurant Chez Pepe (Photo by Ozge)
Omar, me and Charles out for dinner at Pepe
For dinner, we decided to go to Chez Pepe: Byblos Fishing Club. The restaurant is right on the harbor and is famous all over Jbeil for its fresh fish. YES! The restaurant was founded by this guy named Pepe Abed – a Lebanese man born and raised in Mexico. He moved back to Lebanon in the 1960s and opened his now famous restaurant in 1963. Apparently Pepe really knew how to throw a good party and his restaurant attracted the glitterati of Lebanon and the world – politicians like Czech President Václav Havel, film stars like Marlon Brando and Bridget Bardot, etc. Pepe’s was the IT restaurant in Lebanon.
An old photo of Pepe Abed, showing off his photo wall of fame
Then boom. Civil war. During the war, Chez Pepe closed its doors and Pepe flew back to Mexico where he worked saving money to reopen his restaurant when things cooled down in Lebanon. It didn’t have the same ‘star’ power it once boasted but if you go now, there are still tons of photos on the walls of Pepe and his famous guests. Sadly, Pepe died at the ripe old age of 95, in the winter of 2006. Sounds like the guy had quite a life! His son runs the business now, and it really is a blast of a place – it’s so nice sitting outside and feasting on lip-smacking good Lebanese cuisine. You actually get to pick the fish you want from a large ice filled case. It’s fantastic! It’s served with tahini (sesame paste), lemon and pita. And that’s not including the wide selection of mezze dishes – hummos, moutabal, tabouleh, etc. Good food gives me such a happy rush and when we finally finished our meal, we were are bursting with joy…and out of our pants – luckily I was sporting baggy shorts. Oh yeah.
Dancing in the streets of Byblos (photo by Ozge)
Pole dancing in the streets of Jbail 😉
Happy and full, we walked back into the city center where all of the outdoor bars were now overflowing with people, drinking and dancing in the streets. We took a seat at an outdoor bar called Iguana and tried their signature drink – an icy cocktail, blended like a frozen margarita, made with fresh kiwis and vodka. So good! We sipped our alcoholic kiwi slushies and danced in our chairs to the music playing from a nearby live band, singing songs in Arabic, English, Spanish, Italian and French. A little after midnight, we were all feeling wiped out and I was becoming more aware of the fact that I have the flu. So we danced our way through the crowds and hailed a cab back to Beirut. You know, yani, just a typical Saturday in Lebanon…haha! What the what?! How is this my life??
So with Rue Gouraud in my mind, when Ozge invited me out to dinner tonight at the popular restaurant on Gouraud, ‘Le Chef,’ I couldn’t resist. Well, that and I heard that the food was fantastic and I am NEVER one to turn down good food.
Charles joined us and as we arrived outside the restaurant, I realized that I had actually passed this place many times, always wanting to go in, but for some reason or another never quite making it. So now was my chance!! As we walked into the always packed, but charmingly petit restaurant, a booming ‘Welcome!’ from the owner was our hearty greeting – and as we soon discovered, the greeting of every visitor coming or going.
As we squeezed our way through the tables, I took a peek and a whiff of the local specialties being served (apparently the menu changes daily – Brilliant!). My stomach started rumbling immediately as irresistible cravings for moujuddra (lentils, rice, grilled onions and delicious spices – usually served with yogurt), kousa (stuffed zuchinni), kibbeh (ground lamb or beef with bulgur wheat, pine nuts, and other savory ingredients) and moutabal (also known as baba ganoj – basically eggplant hummus) consumed my thoughts. Our waiter tossed handwritten menus atop our paper table cloth and I grabbed mine greedily wanting to waste not a single second and….shit. The menu was written in Arabic.
Interior of 'Le Chef' - so wish I could post the delicious smells!
Okay, now after a month of Arabic classes, you’re probably thinking ‘Come on, Colette. What the heck? You should be able to read and write easily!’ But no. Alas and alack, I read like a 3-year-old and write like a 5-year-old – okay maybe a talented 6-year-old. But either way, you get the idea. Even after the 10 minutes it takes me to sound out a word, I hardly ever know what the word actually means. I’m useless. Luckily, they also have a menu written in French. Score! I thought I’d show off my mad French skills, but in the end I had such a hard time deciphering the scribbled French script that it might as well have been written in Arabic. Ah well – we glanced around at the food on other people’s tables and ended up ordering a mix of everything. YUM!
As we sipped our Almazas and waited for our food, I took a good look around Le Chef. The decorations inside are pretty sparse and the table settings simple, but if anything, it all just adds to the homey charm of the place. We had a table to ourselves, but they often seat you alongside complete strangers who in true Lebanese hospitable style are more than happy to start up a conversation. It’s fantastic. Meeting new people, surrounded by fragrant and delicious Lebanese cuisine – which by the way, is reasonably cheap – who could ask for anything more?
Charles and I, after enjoying our delicious Lebanese mezze
We savored every bite of our meal and when we couldn’t eat anymore, we asked for the check and walked over to a large Moroccan market set up alongside the nearby Martyr Square. We browsed the bags, shoes, furniture, scarves, fabrics, pillows and jewelry while listening to the evening call to prayer echoing from the Al-Amin Mosque, its blue dome visible over the tents of the market. A perfect evening in Beirut!
If you tell a taxi to take you to the Beirut neighborhood of Gemmazeh, they’ll drop you at the start of the Rue Gouraud – the main bar, restaurant and club packed street running through this noisy neighborhood, which somehow manages to be grungy and upscale chic at the same time. I love it! You can spend entire nights hopping from cafe to bar, from bar to club, and never get bored or run out of new places to try.
General Gouraud
But anyway, I’ve been curious for awhile now about the street’s namesake ‘Gouraud.’ I wikipedia-ed that shit and here’s what I found: Henri Joseph Eugene Gouraud was born in France in 1867. For one of the plethora of reasons that inspire young men to take up arms for their country, he joined the French army and began to bump his way up the ranks. He actually lost his right arm while he was commanding French forces during the Battle of Gallipoli in 1915. Like Cervantes in the Battle of Le Panto! Although, that was his left arm. Ha! History NERD in the house.
You know the Battle of Gallipoli – World War I, fought on the Gallipoli peninsula in Turkey. British and French trying to capture Istanbul from the Ottomans and failing miserably. Tons of people died on both sides – honestly doesn’t sound like it was worth it. Oh, and they made a movie about it in 1981 – which in today’s pop culture world is probably more well known than the battle itself. The film was directed by Peter Weir and stars a very young Mel Gibson and Mark Lee as two hopeful, promising young Australians who join ANZAC (The Australian and New Zealand Army Corps – a branch of the British Army during WWI) and then get butchered in Gallipoli. It’s a great film but obviously very depressing.
ANYWAY, I digress. So the reason why they care about this General in Lebanon is that from 1919-1923 he was a commander of the French army of the Levant (Levant = the eastern Mediterranean countries in general – specifically, Lebanon, Palestine, Jordan, Syria, Israel and sometimes Iraq and Saudi Arabia) and played an important role in the creation of the French Mandates of Syria and Lebanon. From what I’ve read, the locals in the region had mixed opinions of Gouraud and the French presence, but apparently he had enough of an impact to merit a street being named after him!
Some background info: So in 1916, you get the Sykes-Picot Agreement (s0 called because it was negotiated by François Georges-Picot of France and Mark Sykes of Britain) between France and the UK that defined who would get control of the different territories in the Middle East after the Ottoman Empire fell. But this agreement was secret and didn’t become official (although it was enforced all the while) until after the end of WWI, in the 1920s by the League of Nations. So in 1920, in the Treaty of Sevres (peace treaty between the Ottomans and the Allied forces), France was official granted control of Syria. The Syrians were pissed, understandably and actually from 1919 (French presence already in Syria but yet to be officially granted power by the League of Nations) until 1921 you get the Franco-Syrian War, with the Syrians trying to oust the French. The Syrians lost and the French remained in control. Quelle surprise.
So when this NY Times article was written in 1922, the French presence in Syria (Lebanon had yet to be created as it’s own country and was just a state in Syria – in fact the article is written from Beirut, Syria not Beirut, Lebanon) was established but Gouraud and his troops were still facing small attacks from different groups in Syria who hadn’t given up on their goal of evicting the French. Syrian grievances against the French included French suppression of Syrian newspapers, political activity, and civil rights and the division of Greater Syria into six different states (Gouraud actually headed this division of Syria, one of the states being that of Greater Lebanon, which eventually became the country).
In the article, the author interviewed Gouraud who was trying to set the record straight about the French influence in Syria, explaining that the French were trying to restore stability in the region, reduce their presence in Syria and were generally liked in the region despite the recent attacks – “He was sure the Syrian people were beginning to realize the generous motives behind the French mandate and the elevating influence of French efforts in Syria, and he was happy to be able to say that the French were now meeting with ready and cordial cooperation.” He also explained that he felt the Ottoman’s would not try to retake Syria and insisted that the French were “…on excellent terms with the Turkish authorities.” So interesting. Wish I had a Syrian article written at the same time on their perspective, but given that the French were suppressing Syrian papers, that might be more difficult to come by.
Gouraud returned to Paris the year after this article was published, in 1923, where he worked as Military Governor until his retirement in 1937, and eventually died in 1946.
Well, anyway, there you go. A brief sum up of the man behind the street name in the party district of Beirut.
First off, sorry for the break in posting – my laptop died!! So until a new one arrives, I’ll be spending long afternoons at internet cafes around Beirut adding old and new entries. I’m actually at a cafe right now, and my alotted time is about to expire, but quickly, before I go, just wanted to throw out this fantastic bit of news I just heard: In January of this year, the New York Times listed Beirut as the #1 place to go in 2009. Yeah Beirut!!!
Authors Seth Sherwood and Gisela Willams write:
“With a recent (though perhaps tenuous) detente keeping the violence in check, the capital of Lebanon is poised to reclaim its title as the Paris of the Middle East. Two hotels scheduled to open later this year are raising the luzury quotient – the Four Seasons Hotel Beirut and Le Gray, the latter from the people behind One Aldwych in London – and a clutch of high-profile restaurants are transforming the city’s culinary scene. Traditional Lebanese cooking finds its apotheosis at the cozy Al-Ajami restaurant, while the glitterati settles into Hussein Hadid’s Kitchen, run by a nephew of the architect, Zaha Hadid. But nothing symbolizes the city’s gastro-political awakening like Souk el-Tayeb, Beirut’s first farmers’ market. The market, founded in 2004, reconciles Lebanon’s warring factions through thier common love of their country’s food.”
I love that the majority of the aritcle is about Lebanese food. Yessssss!
Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Discover.
- Mark Twain
Right now, I’m reading this book called ‘
Yesterday, I began the night by having a pizza dinner with Charles at Napoletana, an Italian chain restaurant here in Beirut. Granted, by Lebanese standards, it’s a little overpriced – for a pizza and a beer you’ll end up dropping about $16 – but the atmosphere is nice and the vegetarian pizza is pretty damn good. No, I’m not a vegetarian, have no fear. I just like kteer khudra (lots o’ veggies) on my pizza. Plus, the branch we went to is on Hamra street – the main street running though the neighborhood of Hamra (university district here in Beirut) – so there’s always plenty of quality people-watching to be enjoyed. Around 10pm, happy and full for the first time in weeks and with plans to meet up with Charles again in a few hours time, I walked home with my two leftover slices of pizza sliding around in an oversized take-away box.
We headed down to the Cola transport hub where we met up with two friends of Ozge’s, an Australian guy and an Irish guy, whose names I have embarrassingly forgotten. Ozge wanted to explore the Shouf – a mountain range southeast of Beirut that is part of the Mount Lebanon Range. So we headed off in a shared taxi for the village of Deir al-Qamar (Pronounced ‘Dare al Um-ar’ – in the Lebanese dialect of Arabic they almost always drop the ‘q’ sound, in case you were wondering – which I’m sure you weren’t, but now you know. Don’t ‘cha feel lucky?), a small village in the Shouf, which Lonely Planet describes as “one of Lebanon’s prettiest villages…and one of the best-preserved examples of 17th and 18th century provincial architecture in the country.” Good plan!
So with our tour of this tiny village complete (took about 1 hour) we decided to treat ourselves to some booza (the Arabic word for ice cream – such a fun word!) from a small stall in front of the Palace of Fakhreddine. YES! And the best part was – they had banana royales. Okay for you poor, select individuals who have yet to sample the delicious amazingness that is a banana royale, I will fill you in – sliced banana, 3 scoops of the ice cream of your choice, topped with whipped cream and hot fudge. HEAVEN!! Yes, ice cream makes me that happy 😉
Two hours later, proud of the progress I’d made in class, I met Omar for a coffee at Costa where we he taught me how to text in Arabic. Despite the fact that all phones here have Arabic letters written alongside the English letters, everyone seems to text in the English, Latin-based alphabet, instead of using the Arabic alphabet – Arabic words written out phonetically with numbers substituting the sounds that don’t translate. For example, the ‘H’-ish sound in the word ‘rooH’ (to go), is texted as a ‘7’ – roo7. The guttural ‘aiyn’ sound, is texted as a ‘3,’ etc. It’s weird and complicated, but an essential thing to know in a world where texting is the standard way of communicating.
Well anyway, for now, with ‘champagne tastes on a diet coke budget’, I’m forced to settle for 5 dollar t-shirts and scruffy jeans, and admire from afar those with the means and fashion sense I lack. But one fashion statement I can afford is nail polish. And here in Beirut the latest craze is pink nails. Neon pink. What the what?? We’re talking, the ’80s are back’, ‘going to a rave under black lights’ neon NEON. Bizarre and gaudy at first glance, I’ll admit – but, with time, the look grows on you, I can’t lie. So today, I decided to give in and I bought a bottle. Gave myself a pedicure and now every time I look at my toes I smile. A cheap splash of a ridiculous trend has brightened my day. Nothing wrong with that!
You know the Battle of Gallipoli – World War I, fought on the Gallipoli peninsula in Turkey. British and French trying to capture Istanbul from the Ottomans and failing miserably. Tons of people died on both sides – honestly doesn’t sound like it was worth it. Oh, and they made a movie about it in 1981 – which in today’s pop culture world is probably more well known than the battle itself. The film was directed by Peter Weir and stars a very young Mel Gibson and Mark Lee as two hopeful, promising young Australians who join ANZAC (The Australian and New Zealand Army Corps – a branch of the British Army during WWI) and then get butchered in Gallipoli. It’s a great film but obviously very depressing.
ANYWAY, I digress. So the reason why they care about this General in Lebanon is that from 1919-1923 he was a commander of the French army of the Levant (Levant = the eastern Mediterranean countries in general – specifically, Lebanon, Palestine, Jordan, Syria, Israel and sometimes Iraq and Saudi Arabia) and played an important role in the creation of the French Mandates of Syria and Lebanon. From what I’ve read, the locals in the region had mixed opinions of Gouraud and the French presence, but apparently he had enough of an impact to merit a street being named after him!
Half & Half 